


Heirs Are Graceless

by RueRambunctious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Class Issues, Explicit Language, F/M, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Internal Monologue, M/M, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:20:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RueRambunctious/pseuds/RueRambunctious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco hates Ron, because he cannot get him out of his head. Ron is oblivious. Ginny is passionate and oblivious. Graphic language, swearing, minor smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heirs Are Graceless

There is something heady about the moment when lust overrides the hatred in your eyes. Never forget that I have this power over you and never forget that I love having it.

Power is up at the top of the essentials with influence and wealth. You’re not intelligent enough to know that I don’t hate you the way you hate me. I don’t hate you. You’re far too enjoyable to be hated when I have you on your knees before me sucking furiously at my cock. I’m not sure what I like best –the power I have over you, or the sight of you with hate filled eyes and your scarlet lips encircling my manhood.

“Mal-f-f-foyyyy…”

The sound of your weak cry as you emit my surname goes straight to my groin and further stokes the raging fire there. I wonder half-maliciously what it would take to make you use my given name. I can’t bring myself to be fully malicious: it’s simply too delicious the way my attentions can reduce you to a begging puddle on the bed sheets.

The sheets are far too good for the likes of you. The room of requirement provides them for my tastes and I know you’ve never experienced such luxury at any other point in your existence. It was wholly enjoyable when you noticed the sheets on my own bed are superior to those that the room of requirements provides. Little is so arousing as your anger or indignation.

The sight of you lying sated is not a wholly unattractive one. Your long muscled limbs are not without some aesthetic virtue. The freckles and the tanned patches of flesh simply remind me of your plebeian status, but that’s not as disgusting as it really ought to be. There is some base part in my nature that takes pleasure in rutting with the lower classes. My guilty pleasure, if you will.

I enjoy the afterglow. There is something pleasant about being in your presence after an intense session of carnal activities. You’re quiet then, before your scowl comes back. Your breathing is soft and your face is not as guarded. It’s somewhat interesting to look at you then. I rarely see you looking so tame. Your manners never seem unrefined in this position either. I never make it obvious that I’m looking at you during this time. It doesn’t seem right to provoke you to leave. You’ll leave soon enough when you’ve recharged and remembered that you aren’t fond of my company.

You’re always silent when you leave and you never look at me.

I always continue to lie on the bed for some time before I get up, shower and leave too.

You’re on my mind as I walk back to the dungeons. I know I’m always on your mind afterwards despite your desire for that not to be so, but this is unusual for me. I have far better control of myself than you do.

It enters my mind the way your lips turn red and debauched-looking after each kiss, bite and suck that you bestow upon my body. It doesn’t seem strange when you kiss my skin. It feels right. It’s when you kiss my mouth that we both feel awkward. Crashing our mouths together should simply feel passionate, but it doesn’t. It feels like we’re both offering more than we’re willing to give. It relieves me that neither of us initiates such behaviour often.

Although anything we initiate is probably more than we should. Every fight we initiate; every time our bodies press up against each other in corridors with at least one of our wands in the other’s throat and no one seeing our hardness or hearing your needy whimper as I grind against you; it really is too much. Would it amuse you to know how much these detentions you earn me are infuriating my father? Not that I’m quite ready to stop fighting with you. If I didn’t pick fights with you, you would probably never find the nerve to seek me out for sex.

The sex is better than I will ever admit to you. All the petty heiresses I bed are so tiresome. Even the most repressed, depraved girls amongst them can’t compare to you: to your strength and your stamina and your taste and your skill and your smell.

I charmed my way into the beds of a few heirs and even a few blood traitor Hufflepuff heirs too. Just to see if I only preferred you because I really preferred men. I didn’t like them any more than the silly little spoilt heiress bitches. It’s seems it’s not your gender I prefer; it’s simply you.

I hope I frustrate you as much as you are frustrating me. I’m glad we never talk. It would be too easy to be tempted if I heard you voice the feelings that lurk in my chest. There’s something special about you. There’s something ridiculously charming about your brawn and your brainlessness and your surprisingly tactical mind. You’d make a very good right hand man or stockbroker for me if your blood wasn’t so horribly tainted.

I’m not naïve enough to think I could make you turn your back on your family for me. With my wealth and influence, my backing would be enough to eventually make you respectable to society *if* you severed ties with your dirt-poor family. I know you won’t. I’ve heard about your brother Percival. I’ve considered seeking him out but any time I try to think of him when I pleasure myself I always end up imagining you.

You infuriate and exasperate me. Everything about you makes me want to throw you up against a wall and dominate you in the most violent kiss possible. 

Our coupling’s always violent but I never make you bleed. Have you noticed that?

I think you may have noticed the first time I breeched you, and you cried out in so much pain. I told you to shut up, but I’m sure you noticed the way I slowed and held your hips reassuringly, and felt the tingle of magic when I whispered a charm to make it easier on you. You called me a bastard when you throbbed afterwards, and I told you that you deserved to keep the burn to remind you of your place. I haven’t stopped wondering whether the reason you had such difficulty sitting in class the next day was simply because you weren’t proficient enough to heal yourself or if you didn’t hate the memory of being possessed by me.

I won’t tell myself that you don’t hate me. I know that you do. But it’s still a rush when your lust overrides your deeper feelings.

It’s also a rush the way you can keep up with me so naturally and the way so sate me with such finesse. Do you know how difficult others find it to fully please me? You never even look like you’re really trying. You have a casual talent here that I wonder who else has seen. The sight of you stretched out in languor as I bury myself to the hilt inside you –and the delightful noise you make when I do- is far too distracting for my comfort.

I wish Father had sent me to Durmstrang. I’m beginning to consider what you would think about every action I take, and far too often I act on the option that would please you most (without getting me killed. I’m not going to become a muggle-lover just to see if you’ll hate me less).

Your young sister’s a slut, did you know that? I fornicate with her at times too. With her it’s certainly passion on her part rather than hate. It’s not that she likes me per say, just that she appreciates my attractiveness and such. I think she gets a thrill out of showing people how talented she is, and subsequently having former enemies and rivals covet her. I’m saving the knowledge that I’ve participated in a threesome with her and Pansy for the time when my power over you begins to wane. I’m hoping this misdeed will be enough to spur you into furious sex.

I’ve considered taking Ginny as my wife one day, not that I’ve ever so much as hinted that to her. My family will be furious but she’s still a powerful and attractive young witch from an old pureblood family so it may not be impossible to orchestrate the union. If she’s anywhere near as fertile as the men of your family maybe I won’t need to do anything but let a minor indiscretion take care of itself.

Ginny’s no you, but she’s fun. She’s amusing and talented and fiery and a hundred other notable things. She’d make a good pureblood wife.

I cringe at the thought of having red-headed, freckled children. I suppose it would be possible to bleach their hair to a moderately pleasing strawberry blonde but it will be exhausting to glamour their freckles constantly.

I don’t know what to say about the moment your eyes and mine met in potions when Severus introduced us to a potion capable of making a person forget one aspect of their lives.

I’m going to volunteer to test it at the end of the week. If the professor agrees then I’ll forget you, and if he doesn’t then perhaps fate is going to be willing to give us a chance.


End file.
